Loveday Writing

The prompt for the Australian Writers’ Centre’s (AWC) First Friday Fix for November 2022 was writing the ending to three micro stories.

• The footsteps were getting louder now. And faster. Jade reached the corner and met a classic alley leading to a dead end. Would this be her dead end? New sneakers squeaked to a halt, breath playing catch up. She slowly turned to face her pursuers. [ADD AN ENDING]

• What a day. I take off my jacket and set it on the edge of the chair. Ice. Glass. Bottle. Ahhhhh. No one must ever know that this is what it’s like behind the scenes. [ADD AN ENDING]

• The lions were free at last. Their golden paws padded along the manicured lawns of Park Street in the early morning light. Curtains twitched. Cats darted under parked cars. A paper boy wheeled by, mouth agape, absentmindedly throwing The Herald into Mrs. Thornleigh’s rose bushes. [ADD AN ENDING]

***

• The footsteps were getting louder now. And faster. Jade reached the corner and met a classic alley leading to a dead end. Would this be her dead end? New sneakers squeaked to a halt, breath playing catch up. She slowly turned to face her pursuers. They found her alright, the three of them gave her an evil but cheeky smile as they fired. The paint burned as it hit her torso, Jade immediately regretted joining her friends at paintball.

• What a day. I take off my jacket and set it on the edge of the chair. Ice. Glass. Bottle. Ahhhhh. No one must ever know that this is what it’s like behind the scenes. Everyone must know that I’m a perfect, put-together, got-it-all-figured-out person that everyone comes to for advice and sees as an inspiration and aspiration. No one must know that I’m not perfect, I only look put-together because I don’t sleep, and I look like I’ve got-it-all-figured-out because I only post my wins, not my losses on my social media accounts. No one must know that my advice is generic and recycled from websites, and that I worked hard to make myself look like an inspiration and aspiration but I’m actually not one. I need this drink to end the day, I need this drink to get me through life, through my life.

• The lions were free at last. Their golden paws padded along the manicured lawns of Park Street in the early morning light. Curtains twitched. Cats darted under parked cars. A paper boy wheeled by, mouth agape, absentmindedly throwing The Herald into Mrs. Thornleigh’s rose bushes. Dr. Stuart rushed out of the house with frizzy hair, a robe over his pyjamas and potion-like vials in his hands, chasing after the lions. He made a mental note to never experiment on his beloved cats ever again.